Hands across the Nations.

7am. 23rd April. *Just walked through the door at work, followed in by a man wanting a buttonhole for St George’s day.  I inwardly cringe, cursing that I will have to spend the whole day making red rose buttonholes for gormless racists, and then tell myself to not to pigeonhole people*

Man: “At least you know what a buttonhole is, love!”

Me: “Pardon?”

Man: “Not like them FUCKING Russians at the other shop!”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Man: ” Didn’t speak a word of FUCKING English!”

Me: “Ehrm, They’re Latvian and Polish, I think. I talk to them all the time. In English.”

Man: “Whatever. How much?”

Me: “Five Pounds. Sir.”

Man: “Fucking Liberty, you ask me. FIVE POUNDS???”